


thresh

by Hillena



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 15:17:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/800168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hillena/pseuds/Hillena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i><a href="http://sherclot.tumblr.com/post/50147126532/thresh-v-to-strike-repeatedly">(v.)</a>; to strike repeatedly</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	thresh

I call him to eat dinner, he eats.

I plead him to stop pacing and relax for a bit, he does.

I ask him to clean up after his experiments in the kitchen, it was spotless.

Its unusual, Sherlock doing as I say. I’m not complaining, though.

—

They were juxtaposed in front of three bodies, John examining the second, Sherlock probably noting John’s observations on their bruises or something.

“Sherlock, have you got a minute?” I asked, “You know, for paperwork?” I say to John. Sherlock follows me to my office; he knows I won’t make him do paperwork. Not anymore.

I gesture for him to sit on one of the chairs in front of my desk. Of course, he doesn’t. I perched myself on the edge of my desk. I open my mouth to speak, he beats me to it, “I know this isn’t about paperwork,” He deadpanned.

“Are you alright?” My eyes stray to his grey ones. He looks away.

“Do I have any reason not to be?” He fiddles with his phone. I know he’s only pretending so he won’t see the so-he-calls pity I have for him. “Are we done here?”

“You have to let him go, Sherlock.”

He’s out the door, still looking down at his phone, “You know I can’t do that, Lestrade.”

—

“What’s that on your arm?” John asks as he moves closer, “Are you alright? Let me check.”

I cover it with my hand, “It’s nothing, John, I’m fine,” I wave him off, “Really.”

He prods at me anyway. He tells me to take my shirt off, I do. He steps back. I turn around.

“Where did you get all those?” John asks quietly. I say nothing because he’s not inebriated, ”And don’t tell me it’s from a case because the only case we had this week did not involve, running, fighting, or running experiments on the corpses’ ear.”

I crouch down to take my shirt, wincing slightly, “It’s fine, I’m fine,” i pull the shirt over my head, “I’m fine, don’t bother.”

He strides over to me, holding my wrists to my sides, “At least me me tend to them,” I feel myself close my eyelids, feel myself flinch, feel my pulse quicken.

“John, please, please don’t, John, don’t, please,” I hear myself say. Stop letting your guard down, Holmes. I feel John’s touch fade. I feel a thud under the soles of my feet. I feel tears falling atop my feet.

I take him into my arms, burying his face into my chest. I feel a spot dampening on my shirt. I feel him saying words. I feel him apologize.

I’ve forgiven him. I don’t know if he has forgiven me.

 


End file.
